JUDGING ELLIE Read online

  "That’s too bad, but it’ll keep. What’s McFee’s story?"

  "She’s a local realtor slash property owner," Jess said. "Something of a social butterfly with aspirations of grandeur. Spends money like it was going out of style. I personally don’t know how she does it in the depressed real estate market, but I guess having the nerve to call a duplex a condo helps. Of course, this is all according to Phillip. He managed a youth softball team her realty company sponsored last summer."

  Jess grinned and took another gulp of coffee. "Apparently, she’s a pushy broad. Tried to outfit the kids in pink T-shirts as a part of their uniform. Said it matched her business logo." He laughed. "Phillip put a stop to that, right quick. Threatened to drop her name and pay for the shirts himself if she didn’t back off and let the kids select their own uniforms."

  Kurt laughed. He imagined Phillip Stuart had more than a few bones to pick with the woman. Jess’ son-in-law wasn’t known to mince words or take guff from anyone.

  He shoved another greasy load of potatoes into his mouth. Pure heaven. "So Bernadette McFee and Ellie are definitely not the same person?"

  "Nope. Phillip says McFee is a petite thing, real brassy with blonde hair courtesy of Miss Clairol. Nothing like the gal you and Lieutenant Parsons have described."

  Kurt thought about Ellie, her sensuous walk that made her hips sway, the clear, porcelain skin and generous bosom. He realized he was looking forward to the evening’s date for more than professional reasons. He reined the emotion in and forced himself to remember the woman was a blackmailer who ruined Marines’ lives with her seductive touch.

  Jess scratched his cheek and studied Kurt from across the booth. "Are you sure you’re okay with this date? Do you think you can bag us some hard evidence? Something that’ll link her with the blackmailing?"

  Kurt toyed with a piece of bacon, crumbling the cold strip between his fingers. Finally, he looked Jess in the eye and nodded. "If there’s evidence to find that’ll determine her guilt, I’ll find it tonight."

  Jess smiled and slipped a toothpick out of his oxford shirt pocket and into his mouth. He rolled it around for a moment, then replied, "Good. Just make sure you glue that mangy beard of yours on straight."

  Kurt chuckled, then moved on to their other case. "What is the latest word from the DEA on the ketamine shipment?"

  "Not good. They know the bulk of the stuff is in the Twentynine Palms area, and it’s only a matter of time until it hits the streets." Jess turned his coffee spoon over and over upon the tabletop as he spoke, an unconscious movement that revealed his inner worries. "DEA investigators don’t have the access we do to move around subtly on a military base. That’s why they’re depending on us to work with their local agent and determine if the shipment has reached the base or not."

  "And they believe it’ll be distributed soon," Kurt said, more to himself than to Jess. "That means we’re rushed for time."

  "We’ll start your investigative work looking into the ketamine shipment on Monday. Their visiting agent is going to be back in our office then meet you and Vic as well as exchange any further information. Probably around noon or so. By the way," his gaze clicked up to Kurt. "This guy’s name is Duncan…Jeffery Allen Duncan III. Any relation?"

  His cousin Tripp. The name was a legacy from their grandfather, bestowed on Tripp because he was born two minutes before Kurt. The nickname was something Kurt tossed his way when they were kids.

  He shoved his plate aside and pulled his cup to him. If Jess found out they were related, he’d yank him off the case in a heartbeat.

  "There are a lot of Duncans in the world, Jess. Why would you think we’re related?"

  The older man shrugged. "No reason really. Just the name I guess made me see a resemblance. Don’t know why. Darker complexion than you. Hair’s dark brown, yours is dark blond. His eyes are dark blue—"

  "I get it, Jess. Please don’t dissect me piece by piece."

  He chuckled. "Just a look about him that reminded me of you."

  "Or a name that made you look for something that didn’t exist?"

  Jess paused to allow the waitress to leave the bill on the edge of their table. He picked up the tab, examined it, then left it and a pile of cash next to the salt shaker. "After tonight, you can put the blackmailing investigation on the back burner. Drugs are going to be our main priority. We need to focus on the ketamine—if it’s on base, who’s dealing, and where the rest of that supply is."

  Kurt nodded and drank the rest of his now-tepid coffee. He needed to get evidence of Ellie’s blackmailing tonight. Enough to put her away in jail for a very long time. Enough to get her out of his life and off his mind for good.

  * * *

  Ellie awoke, too edgy to sleep much past dawn. She decided to put her nervous energy to good use with an early morning jog. Staying in top physical shape was an important part of being in the Marine Corps. As much as she disliked running, she had to maintain her athletic skills and her weight in order to keep her job. Every Marine had to run. But they didn’t have to enjoy it.

  She braided her long hair into a plait, then pulled on a pair of black Lycra tights and a red USMC sweatshirt. Yawning, she laced up her running shoes and stepped outside. On her condo’s small front porch, she stretched her calves by letting them hang down over the cement step. Mechanically, she raised and lowered, feeling the muscles loosen with each set of repetitions. Once her calves were warmed up, she moved on to lunges.

  Pre-jogging exercises are just one more reason to hate running. One of many.

  The wind was brisk, a portent of the predicted storm yet to come. Ellie ignored the gusts and concentrated on her stretches. It was cool and breezy, but she’d been told the weather was pretty typical for the winter season in Twentynine Palms. One good thing about being stationed in the California desert—it generally allowed for year-round outdoor activity. Skipping a daily run due to inclement weather was very rarely an option.

  She set the timer on her watch and started down the street, the sole inhabitant of her early morning world. Even though Ellie disliked the physical act of running, she enjoyed the solitude. It enabled her to think and to dream. In the two months she’d been stationed at this base, she’d mapped out a series of challenging runs that improved her running skills and her endurance. It kept her from being too bored.

  A quick check at her watch told her she needed to pick up the pace. She increased her speed, cutting across the isolated desert road and making a turn onto a paved street. If it had been a weekday, she wouldn’t dare run on a paved road. The traffic would make the jog too dangerous. But on a Saturday morning, it was mostly deserted. If she ran this road for two miles, she could cut over to another dirt road that swung around on a three-mile loop back to her own cul-de-sac. That same dirt road also had the added benefit of providing a beautiful view of Joshua Tree National Park—always inspirational.

  She smiled in anticipation, now flushed and perspiring with her exertions. Almost to the end of the paved road portion of her run, she realized she was passing the Lost Oasis. Ellie wrinkled her nose. She’d had more than her fill of that place for the time being. Agent Duncan’s comments flashed through her mind and she mentally gave him the finger. Jerk.

  She pounded past the club, catching a glimpse of the bench at the front of the building where she and Kurt had sat and cuddled two nights before. The bench wasn’t empty. A body was collapsed across the top, one arm dangling limply over the edge. From the clothing, it looked like a man.

  Ellie skidded to a stop, running in place, undecided. Was it just some bum still sleeping off the last vestiges of his late-night binge? But then again, how many vagrants wandered around in the desert? Not many.

  Could it be one of the club’s last customers, too drunk to make it to his car? But there were no cars left in the parking lot. He could be dangerous. Maybe armed.

  "Okay, here we go."

  Trotting up the driveway, she edged along the parking lot, trying to get a
better view of the still figure. She really needed to bring her cell phone with her when she ran. Or a Smith and Wesson.

  For pity’s sake, she was a Marine. If he gave her trouble, she’d just break his legs. Or run like hell.

  The man lay across the bench, face down. The hand that dangled down over the near side was battered and bruised, the knuckles torn and bloody. A shock of spiked white-blonde hair matted with blood showed above the edge of his jacket collar. Ellie paused. That hair.

  Oh, no!

  "Jeremy!" She sprinted the remaining distance to his side. "What happened to you?" She touched her friend’s shoulder gently and rolled him over.

  A gasp lodged in her throat. His face was a mask of dried blood, cheeks battered and bruised, lips split. Ellie felt like crying. Someone had thoroughly and methodically beaten him. She didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Fresh sweat broke out on her forehead.

  "Can you hear me, Jeremy?"

  She slid her hand down the side of his neck, ignored the stickiness and tried to feel for his carotid artery with her fingers. After fumbling past his blood-soaked shirt collar, she found his pulse, rapid and erratic.

  Thank God. "Jeremy, you need to wake up."

  He groaned and coughed. The motion caused him so much pain he curled back into a fetal position, arms wrapped around his stomach. His beautiful violet eyes opened a crack, flickering back and forth until they lit upon her face.

  "Ellie," he whispered pitifully. "You’ve got to help me. God, I’m so scared." He hacked again, spitting blood. "I didn’t have any choice. I just didn’t." He slumped, unconscious.

  She had to get him to a hospital, but how? Phone for an ambulance. Ellie looked around wildly. There was a pay phone outside the Lost Oasis on the other side of the building.

  Damnit! She didn’t have any change with her; she was wearing running pants without pockets.

  She patted Jeremy’s pockets, feeling for the clink of coins. Nothing. No wallet, no cell phone, no money. The only thing she found was a matchbook sized baggie. It had a grayish, flaky substance inside. Was it a drug of some sort? Jeremy moaned softly. Ellie slipped the packet into the waistband of her tights.

  Telephone someone… 9-1-1! What was she thinking? She could call 9-1-1 without money.

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway twisted her head around. A dusty Ford pickup truck idled in the parking lot. Ellie froze. What if Jeremy’s attacker had returned?

  The window slid down and Jess Alderman’s weathered face appeared. "Staff Sergeant, I was on my way back home from breakfast and saw you over here. What’s going on?" His gaze cut to Jeremy’s limp form. "Who is that, and what happened to him?"

  Jess slid out of the truck and ran around to where Ellie crouched next to Jeremy.

  "He needs medical care," she said.

  He gently checked Jeremy’s face, then lifted his shirt to reveal ribs tattooed with deep purple and red welts. The perfect outline of a set of knuckles was imprinted just under his kidneys.

  "Probably has a few broken ribs, but we can’t be sure there’s not more internal damage. Help me carry him to the truck. It’ll be quicker than calling 9-1-1."

  Ellie nodded. Jess hoisted a whimpering Jeremy under his armpits as she grabbed his legs. Together they managed to haul him over to the pickup truck. Jess slid him into the passenger’s seat and shut the door.

  "I’m taking him to the Naval Hospital," he told her, as he slid into the cab. "They’re closest, and from the looks of his haircut, I’d say he was stationed there, right?"

  She nodded. There was no room for her in the truck, and the law forbid riding in the back. "I’ll meet you there as soon as I get dressed. His name is Jeremy Forton, he’s a PFC with Tanks."

  Jess nodded, snapped his seat belt shut, and streaked out of the parking lot heading for the base.

  Ellie stood, trembling, her arms wrapped around her stomach, trying to hold in her fear and shock. She remembered Jeremy’s frantic telephone call and wondered if she’d taken the time to talk with him last night, would he have avoided this terrible fate?

  She walked back toward the road, breaking into a trot, then into a run. As if running could erase the guilt she felt.

  Thirty minutes later, she opened the front door to the third ring of her phone. Fearing the worst about Jeremy, she snatched it up before the answering machine caught it.

  "Ellie? It’s Vera."

  "Vera, I can’t talk right now. I need to go to the base hospital. A friend of mine was assaulted last night."

  "I know," Vera’s gentle voice soothed her worries. "Jess called me from the hospital. He didn’t have your telephone number with him so he asked me to call you. Your friend’s beating was severe. He has several broken ribs, as well as multiple cuts and lacerations. The doctors are stitching up his face even as we speak. Jess says the hospital will be keeping him for several days to keep an eye on him. Make sure there isn’t any internal bleeding. If he does well, he may be allowed home in a few days."

  "That’s good news." Ellie sighed with relief.

  "The doctors have him sedated right now," Vera went on. "Jess says to tell you that you’d be better off visiting tomorrow morning. First Sergeant Yost came for a command visit, and even he was turned away by the nurses. I’m sure they won’t let you see him while he’s sleeping. By the way, Jess wants to ask you a few questions about how you happened to find the young man."

  Ellie winced. She’d transcribed Jess’ NCIS questioning transcripts, and they were marathon sessions. "I have a date tonight, remember? Do you think he’ll let me talk with him Monday instead?"

  "I think so. He’s going to be more interested in questioning the victim, so he’ll probably let it slide for a few days. Jess is coming over here to the book shop in a few minutes anyway to return that trunk. I’ll ask him for you, and if there’s a problem, he can call you from here. If you don’t hear anything, assume you can give your statement on Monday."

  "Great." Ellie smiled inside and out. "You’re a lifesaver."

  "Now…about this date." Vera’s tone turned scolding. "I never got a chance to give you my opinion of this whole charade last night at the store, but here’s my two cents worth."

  Ellie made her sigh audible. It didn’t deter her friend in the least.

  "You’re going on a date tonight with a man you just met, which is fine. Spending so much time wrapped up in this silly bookstore just isn’t healthy for a young woman like you. You’re going to end up a frustrated spinster."

  Look who’s talking. "You’re not that much older than I am, and you spend a lot of time at the bookstore."

  "Yes, but I have the luxury of having one failed marriage under my belt," Vera snapped back. "Don’t try to change the subject. It’s you we’re talking about."

  "Fine."

  "Deception is no way to start a relationship. What are you going to do if he finds out you’re putting on a costume act? What if he gets so upset with your dishonesty he says to hell with you and takes off?"

  "Don’t worry and quit lecturing. Tonight’s the last night I’m going to wear the wig. If we seem to hit it off and want to continue our relationship, then I’ll tell him…show him the real me."

  "Why not tonight?"

  "I just can’t give it up tonight." Ellie twisted the telephone cord in her hand. The wig, the disguise, was a crutch she wasn’t ready to do without. "Think of it as my protection in case it doesn’t work out. Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll come clean with him."

  Vera sighed heavily. "I think you’re making a big mistake. Relationships that begin with deceit are doomed to failure. Take it from someone who knows."

  "Next time, no wig. Just me. I promise." Now quit lecturing me.

  "You’re going to make me mental, you know that?" Vera’s voice held her usual smile.

  "Thanks for calling me about Jeremy," Ellie said.

  "No problem. Have a good time tonight, but be careful," Vera warned.

  Ellie grinned. "Th
anks…Mom."

  "Smarty-pants." Vera hung up laughing.

  The watch Ellie had so carefully set earlier that morning beeped twice. She realized the morning was flying by and she needed to call Susan, clean the condo, and make sure she had her outfit ready to go for tonight’s big date. Jeremy would be awake and ready for visitors tomorrow. She would visit him and find out how he managed to get himself into such a mess.

  The packet. She’d forgotten all about it.

  Ellie reached into the sweat-soaked waistband of her running pants and fished out the bag she’d taken from Jeremy’s pocket. The material looked grainy through the plastic. She held it up to the light. Opaque, grayish, and flaky. Looked like some sort of chalky substance.

  What was it? Something illegal? Coke, heroine? Ellie didn’t even know what those drugs looked like. The closest she ever came to criminal drug activity was recording the testimonies of military personnel caught on base with drugs in their possession.

  The sound of Bernadette starting up her car and her engine roaring in the garage jerked Ellie out of her reverie. She needed to hide whatever this was until she could give it to Jess and have him check it out. If Bernadette even suspected her tenant had a packet containing an illegal substance…

  Ellie didn’t even want to think about those ramifications.

  Looking around her living room at all the bookshelves, she tried to think of a secure hiding spot. Not with the wine. Bernadette would probably be snooping there soon enough. How about inside a book? Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility caught her eye.

  Perfect. Although if she had any sense, she’d flush this down the toilet where it belonged. Or call Jess immediately.

  Ellie shoved both ideas aside. She’d talk to Jeremy first and find out if it had anything to do with his attack. If it belonged to him, then she’d bring Jess into it.

  Handling the bag by its corner, she slipped it snugly into the center of the book. When closed, the pages only showed the slightest gap. It would have to do. She re-shelved the book in the lower left-hand corner of her largest bookcase. No one would find it there.